


The Heirs of Durin

by Tehri



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: All of the sadness, Angst, Arguing, Durin's Line, Dís-centric, Family Issues, Loss, Sadness, Thorin is a dick without meaning to be
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-30
Updated: 2016-09-30
Packaged: 2018-08-18 16:47:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8168929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tehri/pseuds/Tehri
Summary: With the line of Durin laid dangerously low, they must think of repopulating. Dís, princess of the line, does not wish to have children unless it is out of her own free will, but Mahal seems to have a place for her family in the passage of time. A place that she never wanted for any of them.





	

Balin winced as he approached the hall and heard something definitely large and heavy slam against the door. Even Dwalin, standing on guard beside it, looked uncomfortable.

“They’re still at it, then?” Balin asked, sighing when his brother nodded. “It’s not likely to end anytime soon?”

“Not unless either of them give up,” Dwalin admitted. “And you know they won’t.”

“Whether they give up or not, this will have to be postponed somewhat,” Balin muttered. “Thorin is needed elsewhere for now.”

With that, he pulled the door open and immediately had to push it back in front of him again; a glass smashed against it, and once he was sure nothing else was being thrown, he peeked into the room.

The two remaining siblings of Thráin’s line, eldest and youngest, stood on opposite sides of the room; they were both pacing like caged animals, snarling and growling and shouting at each other. Furniture had been smashed to pieces – it seemed that the slam that Balin had heard had once been one of the heavy oak chairs. Thorin looked more like a stormcloud than his cousin could ever remember seeing him, naught but indignant fury in his eyes and a wolfish snarl on his face. Dís was not indignant, not so detached as her brother. She stood straight and proud as always, but her face bore the look of someone who wished death upon whoever they faced. She was, in certain ways, easily angered; but as furious as she was now, Balin was somewhat amazed with himself for daring to enter the room.

“You have no right, _no right_ , to demand this of me!” she roared. “You call yourself king, but when have you been crowned? What gives you the right to treat me as prized livestock for breeding?”

“We are the only heirs to Durin’s line,” Thorin roared in return. “The only ones, Dís! Frerin is gone! We are all that’s left! You _know_ you must-“

“I _must_ do nothing,” Dís snarled. “My body is mine, and no one but I have the right to say what is to be done with it!”

“There are few enough of us as it is!” Thorin threw up his hands, gesturing about him as though attempting to indicate all of the Blue Mountains. “And fewer dwarrowdams! You know your lot in life, _princess_ , and by Durin’s beard, you should not alter it!”

“You do our ancestor injustice by invoking his name in this matter,” Dís growled. “He who was made without a mate! Do you believe that he would say any of this to me? That he would say this to _any_ dwarrowdam?”

“Durin never faced the crisis that we are in,” Thorin snarled back. “We are _dying_ , Dís, and you are refusing to aid our people!”

“Aid our people!” She threw her head back, letting out a laugh that to any outsider’s ears would have sounded contemptuous; but Balin heard a desperate note to it, a tone of fear and hysteria that did not belong. “It is hard enough for dwarrowdams to conceive, and you believe that turning us all into breeding bovines would change that? Making us all do naught but spread our legs for a willing dwarf until we carry their child, over and over until we either die in child-birth or the children do! That is what I hear in your words! This is not concern for our people, this is insanity!”

Before she could draw breath again, Thorin crossed the room, cornering her against the wall. Balin took a few cautious step forward, eyes wide and worried; it looked as though his king might genuinely attempt to hurt his own little sister, who now stood pressed against the wall and glowering at him with tears rising in her eyes. Thorin raised his hand, grasping one of Dís’s braids and tugging firmly at it to make her wince.

“If you value these, princess, you will do as you’re told,” he stated, keeping his voice in a threatening rumble. “You need heirs. That is a simple fact, one that I am amazed cannot pierce through your thick skull. Our people are dying, and you cannot afford to simply sit here and look pretty anymore.” The moment he backed away, she began shaking. He seemed to take no notice. “There are many vying for your attention; many who would make a good match for you. I suggest you consider them and choose one, and do so soon.” With one swift turn, he strode towards the door, nodding to Balin. “I know, Balin, I am on my way.”

Once he had swept out the door, Dís let out a scream. It was not the wail of mourning that she had given upon hearing of the death of her brother and grandfather; it was the pained scream of a wounded animal caught in a trap, and Balin’s heart ached when he heard it.

He closed the door silently behind him and slowly approached her. She immediately backed away.

“Have you also come to reprimand me?” she snarled, though the anger was lost as her voice was thick with tears. “To state what _healthy breeding stock_ I am?”

“I’ve come to comfort you,” Balin answered quietly. “Though I know you do not wish for it.”

“What comfort is there to give?” Dís asked bitterly, still leaning heavily against the wall as she seemed to attempt to disappear into it. “All that I’ve done for our people is for naught. It means nothing to him, when I still do not wish to marry and have children.” She reluctantly raised her head, watching Balin through her tears. “I long for a family, Balin. A husband who loves _me_ , and not my title. Children, my own children, born because I wished for them and not because my people are dwindling. But he will not see it. He will not hear it.” She laughed again, still with the desperate tone to it. “If it is for my own will, I am selfish. If it is for my own will, he scorns me. Why may I not have a family because I want one? Why will he not take a wife if he wishes so desperately for heirs?”

Balin closed the distance between them and gently laid his hand on her arm. She was strong, he knew this. Stronger than many, weaker than few. And still, Thorin seemed to subconsciously know every single one of her weak spots and attacked them ferociously when they fought – though none of the attacks had ever been meant to harm. In the matter of family, the siblings were not evenly matched.

“He expects you to see it as he does,” Balin said at length. “That our people are dwindling, that Durin’s line may be in danger. He forgets that no dwarrowdam will be pleased with the idea of being as the womenfolk of Men, treated as delicate things that stay at home with the children. Look at Glóin’s wife. She would have his beard as well as the rest of his body hair for such a suggestion.”

“Knowing that I am not alone does not help me,” Dís stated. “Thorin expects to be obeyed. We lost both brother and father and grandfather all too recently, and now he expects that I pick up the slack, as it were.”

“You have done honourably by our people, cousin.” Balin smiled at her, though he did not feel joy at the words. She was still young, and her elder brother had grown up much too fast and put too heavy a burden on her. “He will understand, in time.”

“Time that we do not have, it would seem,” she answered.

 

* * *

 

 

Earlier in her life, Dís had never dreamt that she would one day have children. Having been so young when the dragon came, not more than nine years old, she had grown up with the knowledge that their people had limited resources; putting a greater strain on those resources had seemed irresponsible. She would never have deprived anyone else of little bundles of joy of their own, that was crueller than the dragon itself. But she had vowed to herself that unless she found herself in a time and a place when it seemed possible to support a little one, she would not so much as attempt to conceive.

Now, she sat by the fire and worked on mending a ripped tunic while two little dwarflings played nearby. She glanced at them and smiled; Fili, her eldest son, was as golden-haired as his father, and little Kili seemed a copy of herself. They were mischievous and rambunctious, as most children of Durin’s line seemed to be, but they were undeniably good and responsible boys. There was only one issue.

“If my nephews do not come to greet me, I shall drop them both in the snowbanks outside while they sleep,” Thorin called as he pushed the door to the house open. He sounded as though he was in a good mood; perhaps the day had not been quite so tedious.

Fili and Kili, being the adoring lads they were, rushed to their uncle’s side. He laughed as they tackled him, and for a moment Dís wanted to smile, wanted to think that it was sweet.

But the longer she watched them, the more she thought of her brother’s words on Fili’s last nameday.

_He will make a fine king one day._

Without consulting her, Thorin had declared Fili his heir. She had still been weak after the birth, and once she had recovered and was given the news, it was too late. It had been the logical thing to do, as Balin had told her; but the older dwarf had not looked happy when he’d spoken to her. He knew very well what she thought, and it seemed that he, in some sense, agreed.

She forced a scowl away from her face. She and her brother had been at each other’s throats often lately, and she had no wish to let her sons believe that the family was breaking apart. They’d already lost their father to a wandering orc-pack; they did not need to lose their uncle to an argument.

“See if I have any food for you if you drop my sons in the snow,” Dís stated when Thorin came closer to the fire. She kept her face turned away from him, not wanting to show that something bothered her. “Or any clothing for you either.”

“Would you let me starve, little sister?” Thorin asked playfully. “Truly, you are the cruellest dwarrowdam in Ered Luin. Or the most protective.” He placed one hand on her head, gently stroking her hair, and leant down to press a kiss to her forehead. “The most fearsome bear in these mountains.”

“You are doing a poor job of smoothing over a poor joke,” she stated, not looking up from her needlework. “I suppose the venture went well?”

“Aye, so it did.” She heard him removing his boots to place them by the fire. “Though these bandits were better prepared than the last group. They’d holed up in one of the abandoned mines to the south – getting in there to begin with was difficult enough.”

“Shouldn’t that be for guards to deal with?” Fili asked curiously. “Why did you have to go?”

“Because some extra hands were needed,” Thorin answered with a laugh. “Dwalin and Glóin were both there – with this winter as it is, we cannot always spare guards to rid us of vermin. Everyone needs to lend a hand, even us.” Dís glanced up, seeing her brother kneel down and placing his hands on Fili’s shoulders. “You’ll have to do this as well, when you are king.”

“I won’t,” Kili stated proudly from his reclaimed spot by the fire. “I just have to make sure Fili doesn’t die trying.”

“You’d have to help, Kili,” Dís said firmly. “You know that.”

“Fili’s the heir,” Kili shot back. “I’m just the spare. I make sure Fili doesn’t die trying, so that I won’t have to do his job.”

“As well as I’m sure you’d do,” Thorin said lightly, “I doubt Durin’s line will be ready for king Kili within your lifetime, lad.”

Dís felt the familiar spark of fury in her. So that was where this notion came from. She’d heard Kili spouting similar phrases before, and she’d not been able to think of who might have put them in his head. Now, she fixed Thorin with a glare and rose from her seat, needlework forgotten.

“A word, brother,” she bit out. “Now. Alone.”

The look on Thorin’s face told her that he had no idea why she was suddenly angry, but he got to his feet again, pulled on his boots, and allowed her to drag him outside.

It was bitterly cold, and when the wind bit into her skin she regretted not bringing a cloak with her. But she gazed at her brother, waiting for him to close the door, and reminded herself that getting herself worked up in an argument was sometimes enough for keeping her warm.

“Well?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “What has your beard in tangles, little sister?”

“Don’t call me that,” she snapped. “You only ever say that when you want to remind me of the years between us, to make yourself seem more reasonable! You will use my _name_ , Thorin, and you will _listen_ to me!” She noted with small grim satisfaction that his eyes widened in surprise before she continued. “Kili is _not_ a spare, Thorin! He is my son! Your nephew! I was blessed with two children, and you will not make either of them feel less significant than the other by putting ridiculous notions in their heads! Fili may be crown prince, but it was not with my consent that you declared him your heir! I do not care if so Durin himself declared it so – Kili is not, and will never be, a _spare_ to only be brought into use when his brother dies!”

Thorin’s eyes darkened.

“They are both princes of Durin’s line,” he growled. “They’ll have to learn of the reality of that sooner or later. You and I both had to.”

“This is not about us,” Dís hissed, glaring furiously at him. “Unless you are trying to implicate that Frerin was the spare!”

“Do _not_ bring Frerin into this!” Thorin’s voice rose to a shout; anger was always an expected response if their late brother came into conversation, and though it made Dís feel sick to the stomach to use his name in such a manner, it made her feel oddly triumphant to be able to push Thorin’s buttons so easily. “You know that he was not-“

“He was my brother too, Thorin,” she shouted back. “I lost him too! But you are indirectly stating that he was the spare, and that _I_ am the spare now that he is gone! Can’t you hear yourself? Do you realise who you sound like? This is exactly what grandfather-“

“Don’t start! You were only nine! You don’t even remember anything of Erebor!”

“And still I listen when people tell me of our life there! I listened when they put everything on _you_ , when they decided that it was all up to you and that Frerin and I should never have to be in your position! I listened, Thorin, and I know that you are doing the same to my-“

“I am doing what I have to!” Thorin threw his hands in the air and turned away, beginning to pace back and forth in the snow. “Perhaps you have a choice, Dís, but I don’t!”

“You do have a choice,” Dís cried. “You could take a wife! You could have children of your own!”

Thorin gave a short laugh and turned back to her with a scornful look on his face. But not scorn for her; she knew her brother well enough to know his moods, and at the very least this was not in relation to her.

“And who would have me?” he asked coldly. “A king with no crown, of a people in exile, who can do naught but seek aid from other clans? Durin’s line has been laid low, and as it stands, I am king of no one! When our people are safe in Erebor once more, then I will take a wife! But it will not change that Fili is my heir!”

“Your heir, but not your son,” Dís growled. “Never _your_ son. I would ask you to remember that, though I know you have so far refused to. If you are going to teach one, teach both of them. If you are to be lenient with Kili, then be so with Fili as well, and do not treat them as though one is worth less than the other!” She brushed past him and pushed the door open. “Dwalin has room for you. Stay there tonight, or until you are willing to accept that my sons are not yours.”

She stepped inside and closed the door quickly, locking it before he could attempt to push against it. Standing just beside the door were her sons, staring up at her with worried and imploring eyes.

“Mama, did uncle do something bad?” Kili asked quietly. “Why were you shouting at him?”

“You don’t like to shout,” Fili reminded her. “You’ve said so.”

“I don’t like to shout, no.” Dís sighed deeply and held out her hands for them to take. “He told me once that those who have to raise their voice to prove themselves right will eventually be seen as naught but loudmouthed buffoons. But sometimes, it’s inevitable.”

“What did uncle do wrong?” Fili asked.

She led them back to the fire, trying to think of how to best explain it all to them.

“’The heir and the spare’,” she said at length. “This is not a new phrase. It has followed us since we were children, and now he has left it to you.”

“Is it bad?” Kili asked nervously. “I’m sorry, mama, I didn’t know it was bad!”

Dís smiled softly and trailed her fingers through his hair.

“No, my little wolf, I do not blame you,” she said. “But the phrase implies that you are worth less than Fili.”

“Kili’s worth just as much as me,” Fili stated firmly, frowning at her. “Why would he be worth less?”

“You are the crown prince, Fili,” Dís sighed. “That’s the gist of it. You will be first choice for a lot of things, whereas Kili will not be focused on as much.”

“But he’s not worth less!”

“No, he is not.” She smiled, relieved at her son’s fervency. “And I know your uncle does not truly think so either, but he should not be putting that phrase into your minds.”

“Uncle really doesn’t think so?” Kili asked quietly. “He doesn’t think I’m worth less?”

“I believe he’d rather shave his beard completely,” Dís answered gently. “He loves both of you very much. But he’s a bit of a dimwit, and he sometimes says things he knows do not apply to people he knows and cares for.”

She knew her brother. She knew Thorin. But she did not know Thorin II Oakenshield – the king of Durin’s line. The former was kindhearted and loving, loyal and steadfast. The latter she had come to see as someone cold and unintentionally cruel, whose only goal in life lay far to the east, beyond the Misty Mountains. One was her brother, the dwarf who always looked after her. The other was the dwarf who would give everything, even his own sister, to save his people.

Once her sons were tucked into their beds and she was stoking the fire, she found herself wondering if one day the king would not give his own life for his people’s sake, and thus take her brother away from her.

“When did I grow so bitter?” she murmured to herself. “When did I start to assume that it was always the king who spoke to me?”

A faint knock at the door broke her out of her reveries, and she went to open it. Outside in the snow, without a cloak and with naught but regret written in his face, stood Thorin.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “Dís, I never meant… I didn’t mean to…”

“I know,” she answered. “I know you didn’t.” She held out her hand to him. “I’m sorry. Come inside, you must be freezing.”

“Could be better,” Thorin admitted with a small smile. “Dwalin dunked me in a snowbank for disturbing him over this.”

“Then get inside and warm yourself by the fire, you ass.” Dís smiled back at him and stepped out of the way to let him in. “There is still a bit of food for you, if you want it. Are you hungry?”

“Starving, though I almost had my belly filled with snow.” He hesitated once the door was closed behind him, but finally met her gaze. “Are the boys asleep? Did they hear?”

“They heard,” she sighed. “And they are. I suppose we can’t hide any arguments from them anymore.”

“They’re old enough to understand, if things are explained to them,” Thorin muttered. “But I’d hoped we could keep it quiet a little longer.”

“So did I, brother. Come now, go and dry off a little bit. You’re dripping everywhere.”

 

* * *

 

 

She stood before the opening to the cavern, shaking as she tried to convince herself to go in there. The torches were lit, as custom bid, but there were no guards by the entrance. Not here. They would not be needed. Dáin stood beside her and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder.

“Do you want me to come with you?” he asked quietly. “Or shall I stay here?”

“I’ve not had a moment alone with them since they left,” she answered, forcing her voice to remain steady. “I need this, cousin. I need to see them.”

“Their markers you may see,” he stated. “I cannot do more than that.” He gave a small bitter smile. “Though I wear a crown, it does not give me authority to disturb the dead.”

“Their markers are all I need,” she answered, slowly and unsteadily stepping into the cavern.

She had dreaded this. She had feared the inevitable return to Erebor, had almost wished the quest would fail so that they would come home and stay there in Ered Luin in peace. But nothing had she feared as much as this.

She had been nine years old when the dragon came. Nine, and too young to know what had happened. Too young to ever have entered the tombs of the kings. Now, stepping past the threshold for the first time, she wondered if she ever felt so small at the age of nine as she did now.

Row after row she passed, ever continuing downwards. Yet there were fewer than she had imagined; Erebor was old, but not so old that it was immeasurable. Finally she came to a halt before the last three tombs. Carved stone doors blocked her way, and she gazed upon the carvings in sorrow. Two had the likeness of the young princes carved onto them, eyes closed in eternal slumber. The middle one was larger, and more intricate; it seemed that it was more a statue than anything else, and in its hands it held two items. One was a sword, an elven blade that she did not recognise as his. The other was a gem that shone like all the stars in the night sky, like the moon itself, as the light from the torches reflected off it.

Here they had been laid to rest, her brother and her two sons. In a Mountain that only one of them had memory of, a place that had not been their home. She had been told of how this came to pass, of their last glorious stand. She had not wept, not once; perhaps, she reasoned, it was the shock. Her sons had been so young still, not yet past their first century, and her brother had seemed nearly immortal to her for so many years.

“You survived a dragon,” she said, staring up at the likeness of her brother’s face. “You survived the battle of Azanulbizar, when more than half of our forces lost their lives. I would have thought you lived on out of spite for the world, if not for this. Am I to scold a statue, rather than look upon your face? And my sons, my children, those you have taken with you. They thrived where nothing else would, where our people merely survived. They left their home, left _me_ , to follow you into this madness. And now I have to look upon mere statues of them, and of you, and wonder what cruelty I have committed to not be allowed to see you again.” She clenched her fists, shaking worse than before and lowered her gaze to the gem held in the statue’s hand. “You have your prize. You have what you sought, brother. The Arkenstone is yours, and it will never again belong to anyone else. You paid heavily, with the lives of yourself and your nephews, but it is yours. Are you happy now, when you may rest in Mahal’s vast halls? Are you finally happy, when you have taken all I held dear from me, Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thráin, son of Thrór?”

Tears were falling. Her vision had blurred, and she had not noticed when it happened. The reality of where she was and what she looked upon had finally struck home.

“There is nothing left,” she managed to gasp out in a strangled voice. “There is nothing left, Thorin. Mother and father are gone. Frerin is gone. My husband. Fili. Kili. And you. Why is it that you always leave? Why could you never come home and _stay_ there, stay with me? Did our people matter more to you than I? Why did I become the prize you had to pay for their safety?” She shook herself, giving a weak and hollow laugh. “No, that is unfair, is it not? Of course they mattered to you. They loved you. All you ever wanted was to save them from starvation and death of cold. That was the task you chose for yourself.”

She raised her head once more and looked up at the face of the statue through her tears. She reached out, placing one trembling hand on the cold stone that held the sword.

“My brother,” she said. “I loved you too. I pray you never thought otherwise.” She smiled again, though it was brittle. “And my Fili and my Kili, they are with you. As they always wanted to be. My little sun, and my little wolf. Look after them, brother. Look after them, and love them for me as well. I will see you all again. If you can hear me, Thorin, tell mother and father that I miss them. Tell Frerin the same. I will see you all again, I promise.”

She fell silent, standing there for a long while before she finally drew away. She hoped briefly that the statue would reach out suddenly and grasp her hand, stop her from leaving, but shook her head and reminded herself that it was merely a childish notion. As much meaning as stone held to her, it was still stone and not flesh and blood. She moved along the rows, taking a deep breath as she left the cavern.

“I may not be your brother,” Dáin stated as she came out. “But I am your family. Your cousin. You are not alone, Dís.”

“I know,” she breathed. “I know. But I do not believe I have ever felt more alone in my life than I do now.” She gave him the same brittle smile she had given the statue. “The line of Durin may prosper again. But I wonder if the price paid was worth it.”

**Author's Note:**

> No, I do not think of Thorin as an asshole. I think of him as a very focused character, and after the Battle of Azanulbizar he would be very focused on ensuring that the line of Durin does not die out. He'll put on his king-face (so to speak), and he will do what he must to ensure that they are safe. In the process, he sometimes realises that he can't be lienient on his own family for any reason. No, of course he'd never want Dís to be unhappy. But he knows there is a price to pay, and that it must be paid - no matter his own reservations.


End file.
